


Crossing Over

by Shamelessquestions (KagekitsuneXXX)



Series: Domestic Bliss [10]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Afterlife, Angst with a Happy Ending, Future Fic, Ghosts, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 17:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1558151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KagekitsuneXXX/pseuds/Shamelessquestions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For some loves, death is only the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossing Over

The way Mickey Milkovich sees it, eighty-eight years wasn’t a bad run. Sure, he might be limping to the finish line, but it could have been worse. He wouldn’t have guessed the ending having seen the beginning, because honestly, he hadn’t had one of the greatest starts. Still, he had run into a bit of good luck when he was sixteen; a freckled, red haired, dopey piece of good luck that he somehow managed to stretch out for the next sixty-six years. What could he say, when Milkoviches got lucky, they got lucky.

It hadn’t been the smoothest of partnerships, but Mickey couldn’t think of a single thing he would have changed. Well, except for the part where the fucker decided to up and leave him six years ago—that part could have done with a rewrite. It had been the worst thing Mickey could have imagined, especially since the last couple years of his life, dementia had hit Ian hard. It had been rough, looking into green eyes that hadn’t recognized him sometimes. At least even when he was out of it, Ian was always looking for him. It was just that the Mickey next to him at the time didn’t really look much like the Mickey he was expecting. Slipping back and forth between eighteen and eighty had to be the roughest thing.

When Ian died, Mickey had more than expected he would have followed right after. Instead, somehow, he had managed to last another six years with his heart gone. This time though, felt like the real deal. He was pained, bedridden and it felt like there was an elephant sitting on his chest. If an aversion to suicide hadn’t been drilled into him from childhood, he’d have offed himself ages ago. Hardly mattered now; his nurses were doing a countdown on him and he honestly hoped they were right because he was truly sick and tired of this.

“You were always so fucking impatient.”

Mickey blinked and performed the tedious task of turning his head so he could follow the voice. Well fuck, so his mind had finally decided to go. It was about damned time too. If he had known it would have brought him Ian Gallagher, seventeen and beautiful, smiling and smug, he would have driven himself batty much, much sooner.

“Jesus, you got old,” Ian observed and lifted the sheet to peek underneath, “the goods don’t look too bad though. They aged well.”

“That’s because you always had a thing for old man balls,” Mickey replied, surprisingly easily, “and you got old too, fucker. Why the hell do you look like that?”

Ian beamed at him, and Jesus, the bastard was magnificent. How unfair was it that he got his swimsuit model body back and Mickey was just lying there looking like Father Time.

“What can I say? I prefer Firecrotch to Silver Back. Besides, you’re the one who always said you liked me pretty.”

“You were always pretty,” Mickey said gruffly, “always.”

Ian’s smile gentled and he placed a hand, solid and warm, over Mickey’s. “I missed you.”

“Yeah, you missed me. I’m not the one who up and left, am I?” Mickey groused.

“Oh my God, I died, you prick!” Ian threw his hands up, “you think I just shuffled off the mortal coil because I heard about an afterlife yard sale?”

“You always did love a good yard sale,” Mickey narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“The deals are better; department stores are for suckers. Besides, with the exception of the first couple months when I was figuring out the whole crossing back thing, I’ve been here the entire time waiting for your miserable, wrinkled old ass to die.”

Mickey didn’t know if that was sweet or morbidly disturbing. He decided to settle on sweet so he wouldn’t be bothered by the thought of his ghostly partner following him around, willing him to keel over.

“I missed you too,” he finally admitted.

“I know, you’ve been kind of a pain these last few years; even for you,” Ian leaned down and pressed firm kisses along his partner’s forehead. Mickey inhaled a shuddering breath. He could feel him, he could smell him, and it was as if the bastard had never left.

“So is this it?” Mickey asked hopefully and gaped a little when Ian shrugged.

“I mean, I guess so? You’re actually seeing me, so that has to mean something, right?”

Yeah, that was reassuring. Mickey sighed, “Will it hurt?”

“What? Dying? The fuck do I know? I’m here, you’re there; I can’t tell you how your life will end,” Ian answered, flustered. He then rubbed Mickey’s arm soothingly, “Are you in pain now?”

Actually, he wasn’t. He felt light and happy and warm; better than he had felt in decades. This did not negate the fact that the love of his life was still a complete and utter moron. “You have no idea what’s going on, do you?”

“What do you want from me?! I went there and then as soon as I could figure out how, I came back here to you!”

“Where is ‘there’?”

“I don’t know…just ‘there’!”

“You’ve been dead for six years and you’ve gathered no intel. Is that what you’re telling me right now?”

Ian sputtered, coming apart at the seams as his partner stared up at him, magnificently unimpressed. “They don’t give out fucking handbooks, okay! No one tells you anything. There were no pitchforks or hellfire, so I figured I was good. May I reiterate my primary goal was coming back to you?”

“Unbelievable, thank God you’re incorporeal now because otherwise you would be a complete waste of space.”

Ian pouted angrily, “six years I’ve been waiting for this moment, Mickey! Six years I’ve been following you around watching you sneak Snickers bars and cookies, hoping your dumb ass would slip into a hyperglycemic coma and die!”

“I cannot overstate how creepy that sounds.”

“Six years I’ve been fantasizing about how this reunion would go, and none of it is happening right. You, Michael Milkovich, are ruining this moment!”

“Oh fuck off, you teenage drama queen redo.” Mickey muttered under his breath, and of course, ghost Ian did not need a hearing aid anymore, so out came the chin.

“Fine!” and with that, Ian disappeared. Mickey made a tiny, startled, broken noise and tried to grab onto the air where Ian had once been.

“Just kidding, I’m over here now,” Ian’s voice now came from the other side of the bed. Mickey wanted nothing more than to take his oxygen tank and wipe that unholy smile off Ian’s face.

“I hate you so much, Ian, I swear to God,” Mickey fumed, only for his pique to evaporate when Ian slipped his hand into his.

“That’s too bad, because I’m still pretty fond of you.”

It was impossible not to smile back at that face. Mickey squeezed Ian’s hand, imagining himself never letting go and sighed.

“There he is!” Ian said gleefully and dropped the old man’s hand before launching himself at Mickey. The restored brunet caught him and stumbled backwards, knocked back by the force of Ian’s tackle. This was the weirdest fucking thing ever, being bedridden and feeling decrepit one minute, and then being young and whole and hugging your dead boyfriend the next.

Of course Ian would be crying while he peppered Mickey with kisses, because he was a sentimental sap who rarely missed an opportunity to turn on the waterworks the older he got; and maybe Mickey was crying too a little bit, because give him a break, being dead and reunited with your soul mate is kind of a big fucking deal. Mickey Milkovich was not made of stone. Or anything now for that matter.

“I always loved that fucking sweater,” Ian sniffled and pressed his forehead to Mickey’s while he tugged at the collar of Mickey’s favorite grey, frayed sweater.

Mickey cradled Ian’s face and pressed his lips to his. Six years since he’d last been able to do that; six years since he last felt he could breathe properly. He grinned against Ian’s mouth as his partner sighed happily. He pulled back and rubbed his thumb along Ian’s chin and noticed that the F-U-C-K was still there on his knuckles, prominent as ever. Trust him to go into the hereafter with cuss words blazoned across his hands.

“Hey,” Mickey captured Ian’s chin and looked at him significantly, “can we still bang?”

“Jesus Mickey,” Ian rolled his eyes and huffed out a laugh before grabbing his boyfriend again and shoving his tongue down his throat. “I don’t know, can you?”

The growing southern discomfort certainly answered that question. Mickey now kind of understood why Ian didn’t really do that much research; once certain burning questions were answered, you really gave fuck all about much else. Mickey broke away from Ian briefly to check out a mirror and grin widely at himself. It took turning into a cast member of Cocoon for him to appreciate it, but he was a good-looking motherfucker.

“Hey, peacock,” Ian yanked him backwards and brought him to a standstill in front of the dear departed Mickey. Ian stood behind him, wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s waist, “you wanna say goodbye or anything?”

“Damn, I got old,” Mickey mused as he took in his former self, “well okay, see ya. Let’s go.”

“What, that’s it?”

Mickey looked back and shrugged, “you want me to sing kumbaya or some shit? I can’t eulogize myself. This whole thing is freaking weird anyway.”

Ian sighed at his callousness and pushed him out of the way so he could give departed Mickey his farewell.

“Seriously,” Mickey deadpanned, “he was me. However, now I’m right fucking here. What are you even doing?”

“Look, this is the version of you I’ve loved for like the last twenty years. Forgive me if I have a little sense of ceremony and am a little emotional right now.”

“You are a complete nutcase,” Mickey sighed, “hurry the fuck up and don’t get dead guy cooties all over you.”

Ian sighed and ignored his boyfriend in order to smile fondly down at the lined face and balding grey head. He bent down to kiss him and Mickey threw up his hands in disbelief.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“You would be jealous of your own goddamned corpse,” Ian sighed again, gave up the ceremony and straightened up.

“It’s your old man syndrome, isn’t it?” Mickey accused, “I was finally at the age where I was just perfect for you.”

“You know what, let’s go before I shove you back in, I swear to God.”

Mickey smirked as Ian grabbed his hand and tugged him into the fresh open air. “So what now, do we walk into the light or something?”

“Ah, not exactly sure.”

“Do we even have somewhere to stay?”

“Um, dunno; spent the whole time with you, remember?”

“You’re the fucking worst, Gallagher.”

“Shut up,” Ian whined pathetically, “you’re here now, so we’ll figure it out.”

“You see Mandy at least?”

“Yeah, she had said I should prepare to accept the possibility that you might end up on the opposite side.”

“Bitch…” Mickey muttered, “Is there another side?”

“Fuck if I know,” Ian intertwined his fingers with Mickey’s and grinned at him breezily.

“Jesus Gallagher,” Mickey sighed and tugged Ian in for a kiss, “thank God you’re pretty.”

**Author's Note:**

> For all the people doings finals who feel like they're dying. All the best!


End file.
